


Son of Hermes

by Arrowsbane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Children of Hermes are Parselmouths, Demigods do it better, F/M, Harry is a girl, I need a life, Luke can never sit still, Luke needs a date to the yule ball!, Luke swears at a dragon, Malfoy fancies Hannah, Plotbunnies are EVIL, Ron is learning to handle his emotions., Salazar Slytherin was a child of Hermes, Silena is scary!, The Goblet belongs to Hecate, Wizards Are Stupid, genderbender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6783028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrowsbane/pseuds/Arrowsbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is with an abject sense of boredom that Hannah Potter realizes anybody could simply levitate a piece of paper across the age line and into the Goblet of Fire. The paper that is devoured by the bluebell flames says: ‘A real hero.’  </p><p>Luke is seventeen and broken when Hermes sends him to the Garden of the Hesperides. He expects Ladon’s fire to incinerate him, not send him to a dingy castle in Scotland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He took his vorpal sword in hand

_I might only have one match, but I can make an explosion_

* * *

Luke is just barely seventeen when Hermes sends him on the quest to the garden of the Hesperides.

He is bitter and broken by the loss of Thalia, holding himself together for Annabeth’s sake with duct tape made of fake smiles and laughter that sounds just a little too staged. His dreams are haunted by the smaller blonde’s screams for her pseudo-sister and the harsh words of Zoe Nightshade from so long ago when she warned Thalia that he would fail her when she needed him the most.

Luke is broken, but he is not yet beaten, and so he staggers on. He will bow to nobody.

The Oracle’s words linger in his mind _‘stand before Ladon weary and alone/only green fire can return you to home.’_ and he sincerely hopes that by fire sending him home she does not mean the underworld because he is afraid of what he might find there. He has taken no companions on this quest, if he is to face Ladon alone it will not be because others have died for him.

The journey across the continent is hard but he is lucky enough to remember the old safe-houses he built with Thalia all those years ago, even if he finds it hard to sleep at night in a room so full of memories.

By the time Luke reaches California, he is tired and dirty, missing Cabin eleven more than anything in the world. It’s early morning and a Saturday, the gardens of the Hesperides can only be accessed by sunset, so he makes use of his God-given (inherited, technically) talents in order to break into a school to use the showers in the locker-rooms and raid the fridges before beginning the hike up Tamalpais, the current location of Mount Othrys: seat of the Titans.

The second he steps onto the silvery grass, the nymphs sense him and shimmer into existence. He does his best to befriend them, but they are immortal and immortals have long memories – Hera’s fury over Heracles stealing an apple brought much humiliation and so the daughters of Pleione are rightfully suspicious of handsome half-bloods walking into their territory. They shout for Ladon to wake and then scamper to safety leaving him to face the terrifying beast.

Luke dodges the first hissing head, and the second before being sent flying when Ladon’s tail whips lightning-fast through the air. He rolls with the force of the blow and manages to get his feet underneath his body and stand. Then Ladon opens his many mouths and fire spews forth before Luke can even scream. His last thought is that the fire does not burn like he expects it to. When he opens his eyes, he is no longer in the sunset garden.

* * *

Hannah is fourteen and jaded when the boy with blue eyes does a barrel roll into her life.

She is tired of the ever-present pendulum of trust that makes up the school body of Hogwarts, tired of running the gauntlet, tired of returning to Privet Drive each summer only to emerge with a little less of herself each fall. Her faith is shaken with the knowledge of Sirius being denied a trial, her hope for happiness trampled on and dulled by the aching cold that the Dementor’s left inside her bones.

Hannah feels like a ghost, like an echo of a girl, but she will not go quietly. A flame reignites inside her.

October thirtieth of nineteen-ninety-three finds her sitting on the heavy stone steps of the entrance to the Great Hall beneath the invisibility cloak, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand. She is bored, wanting to test a theory that if proven correct, will confirm her deep-seated suspicion that Albus Dumbledore is indeed the crack-pot old fool that many from the serpent house proclaim him to be.

She has no need for fame or fortune, so the slip of paper that she levitates across the age-line and into the eager bluebell flames that dance so hungrily does not read a name, but a sarcastic and half-hearted wish. Ten seconds later and Hannah dares to breathe; twenty and she feels disappointment slip into her heart and mind. Thirty seconds more and she turns to leave. She does not see the blue flames flicker green for a mere second, does not know that the Gods have heard her plea or that she has finally succeeded where all others have failed.

* * *

The hours tick past, and Hannah finds herself sat at the Halloween feast wanting nothing more than to be tucked up in bed with the photo album of her parents. Halloween will always be a reminder of the life she will never have, but the feast is mandatory and not even she is granted leave.

The Goblet of Fire sits dead center of the Head table on a raised plinth so everybody can see the bright blue flames flicker in the dim light of the hall. She eats slowly and with lackluster, pushing the food around on her plate so that it looks like she has made a decent effort. Finally, she is able to push her plate away and the tableware melts away from existence leaving only their drinks behind.

The Goblet blazes red and a piece of charred paper flutters down into Dumbledore’s waiting hand. He clears his throat and reads: “The champion for Durmstrang, will be Viktor Krum.” Applause for the first champion storms the hall in a cacophony of cheers and stomping. The dark haired Bulgarian slowly rises to his feet and slouches the entire way up to the head table where he is directed into an antechamber.

A few seconds later, the flames change to red again and this time it is Beauxbatons that applauds the shimmering beauty that is Fleur Delacour. Ron drools over the blonde girl while Hermione sniffs disdainfully at a pair of girls in blue robes who actually burst into tears over not being chosen. Hannah is too interested in the final name to care. Hogwarts will be next.

The third, and supposedly final, jet of red flame almost singes Dumbledore’s robes when the old wizard reaches up a little too quickly to snag the parchment.

“Cedric Diggory,” He calls out proudly and the Hufflepuff table _explodes_ with joy. The handsome sixth year pushes to his feet and walks the length of the hall basking in the sheer love of his housemates. It would have been a little sickening if it hadn’t been for the fact that their pride and joy was completely without ulterior motive, was not so genuine.

Dumbledore smiles once Cedric too has disappeared and begins waving his hands for quiet so he can give his closing speech, only to be interrupted as the Goblet blazes one more time, this time burning with green flames instead of red. Dumbledore reaches up to snatch the fourth piece of paper, unsurety is written across the ancient face, and then reads in a clear and steady – if a little baffled – tone: “A real hero?”

There is a beat and Hannah feels a swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach. _Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. It worked. How the hell did it work?_ Dumbledore laughs merrily, tossing back his head.

“It seems we have a joker in our midst,” he says happily, clearing his throat to continue, only the green flames burn brighter and images begin to appear over the golden cup. Faces appear, flashing through a long list of unknowns at high speed until it settles on the image of a boy with blonde hair, blue eyes and a wickedly devious smile. The hologram pulses with a golden glow once, before it shows a different sequence of images, this time of the same boy in a dozen different situations, a bronze blade in one hand and a shield in the other – a chronicle of adventures, even featuring one of the blonde wielding a golf club to fend off a monster.

The Goblet belches a mighty gust of fire, spewing out and onto the stone flags that make up the floor and when the flames clear, the teen is stood before them, sword drawn and muscles tense as though he was bracing himself for a heavy blow. Silence reigns until a first year at the Hufflepuff table drops his cup with a clatter. Then the blonde warily opens his eyes, blinks in surprise, and lowers his sword. He looks around the room in complete bafflement, and when he opens his mouth, he says:

“If this is death, Hades really needs to redecorate his waiting room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody kill these plot bunnies, I beg of you. Seriously. They breed like rabbit slippers under the bed and it’s exhausting.


	2. Down the rabbit hole once more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke will never admit it, but he is a little impressed with the sheer scale of the Castle that houses the student body of Hogwarts. The design is downright ridiculous and totally impractical. Moving staircases when they could just have two core staircases (on going up, one going down) that split off onto each floor? Ridiculous. And totally something he would have done.

_We were fire and hope, now we’re ashes and smoke_

* * *

“If this is death, Hades really needs to redecorate his waiting room.” Luke says, his voice echoing through the darkened hall. He feels decidedly unimpressed, something that no doubt shows on his face. “I mean; I really did expect better of the Lord of the Dead. Who in Tartarus is his interior decorator?”

“My dear boy, you are not dead.” The demigod turns to see a thin old man wearing the most ridiculous sparkly dress (something that he vaguely recalls being told were _robes,_ not unlike the style of the goddess Hecate’s clothing) that would have the children of Aphrodite up in arms. The blonde eyes him skeptically.

“Are you _sure_? Because I very clearly remember that dragon doing his best to _incinerate_ me and I know that I’m not fireproof.”

“Quite sure my dear boy, it seems you have been selected as our Fourth Champion. Most unusual indeed, but no less exciting.” The barmy old man says, blue eyes atwinkle. Luke mentally notes him down as unstable and clearly in need of a visit from the Apollo cabin.

He isn’t sure where he is. It’s dark, that’s for certain, and full of a lot of kids wearing black robes – although who is he to talk? He practically lives in a set of jeans and an orange t-shirt. He’s about to ask the weirdo in the spangled dress where he is when he catches sight of the gleaming bronze cup. Holy shit. He says as much.

“Holy Zeus!” he swears, “Is that Hecate’s cup? What on earth are you lot doing with it?” It’s a valid question. The goblet bespelled by Hecate millennia ago for the first Olympian Demigod Games has been missing for centuries despite the numerous quests to return it to the Goddess’s temple on Olympus.

The little old man blinks, evidently unsure of how to answer. That’s when it really sinks in that not only do the robe-wearing-nutjobs have Hecate’s cup, but they’ve been _using_ it if the green flames happily flickering away are any indication. Oh gods.

“The Goblet of Fire,” says a reedy-looking man in pressed black robes, as he gets to his feet, “is an ancient magical object that is on loan from the International Department of Mystical Objects. I fail to see what business of yours this is.”

Luke bristles angrily.

“It’s my damn business because it’s been missing from the Temple of Hecate for the better part of a thousand years ever since somebody broke in and stole it.” He snaps, glaring at the pompous prat with a comb-over. “We’ve been searching for it for centuries, do you have any idea how many of my kin have died trying to retrieve it.”

He grips the hilt of his sword a little tighter and ignores the whispers that start up around him. Luckily for Comb-over, Sparkles intercedes, raising his hands in a placating manner.

“I’m sure we can figure this out in a peaceful manner, perhaps over tea? I do love a nice cup of tea.” Luke eyes Sparkles suspiciously. What is the old man’s angle?

“If you’d be so kind as to join us in the antechamber with the other champions, Mr…?”

“Luke,” he says, sheathing his sword but not letting his guard down. “I’m Luke, son of Hermes.” From further down the table Sparkles and Comb-over are sat at comes a sputter and a short, scandalized gasp of _“A Demigod?”_ which makes him roll his eyes. Oh please, it isn’t like he’s from an endangered species… Well, actually, now that he thinks about it, Luke supposes he is. Sort of.

He shrugs. When in Rome…

“Not like I have much else to do,” he grumbles and shoves his hands in his pockets (the perfect image of a grumpy teen, except that most grouchy teens don’t have a bigger-on-the-inside-pockets that contain bronze daggers) before stalking over to the door indicated.

* * *

Hannah is in shock. It worked. It actually _worked_. She follows the rest of her house up to the Tower in a stupor while her housemates burble excitedly about the events of the evening.

“I can’t believe it,” Ron babbles excitedly – it’s worse than when Krum arrived. “An actual Demigod. Do you _know_ how rare it is to even see one, let alone speak to one? They almost never leave their enclave.” Hermione eyes him skeptically.

“But, they aren’t actually the offspring of the Gods, are they?” She says, clear disbelief in her voice.

“They _are_ ,” Ron insists. “The Goddess Hecate is the patron of all Wizards and Witches. Legend has it that some of the oldest families even descend from her children.”

“But the Gods aren’t real,” Hermione says very matter-of-factly. “They’re just old stories to explain the changing of the seasons.”

“Hermione,” Ron says impatiently, “You’re _a witch_. Just because the Muggles don’t believe in magic, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

Hannah is too busy trying not to hyperventilate to really notice the brunette’s frown or head the looming argument off before it turns into a full-blown fight.

Because it had actually _worked._ She must have spoken aloud because the next thing she knows everybody is looking at her. “What worked?” Ron asks, eyeing her warily, because truthfully when it comes to Hannah – it could have been anything. Hannah tugs on a lock of her dark red hair nervously.

“Um…Well…”

“ _No._ ” The Weasley twins breathe in synchronized disbelief. “You didn’t?”

Hannah blushes. “It’s not like I actually thought it would work.”

“But how?” Fred asks, his face deceptively calm. Hannah smiles sheepishly.

“I sat on the steps and levitated the paper across the line. It was rather pathetic to be honest.”

There is a series of slapping noises as the majority of the Gryffindors slap their hands against their foreheads. Hannah squirms uncomfortably, and then begins to back toward the girls’ staircase.

“Well, it’s been a really long day…” She turns on her heel and bolts up the stairs before the Twins can grab ahold of her and start the dramatic scene that is clearly brewing.

“Hannah!” George yelps, “Get back here!” Fred adds, but Hannah makes a bee-line for her bed and charms the curtains closed behind her.

* * *

Luke will never admit it, but he is a little impressed with the sheer scale of the Castle that houses the student body of Hogwarts. The design is downright ridiculous and totally impractical.

Moving staircases when they could just have two core staircases (on going up, one going down) that split off onto each floor? Ridiculous. And totally something he would have done. Trick steps? Hidden doorways? Hell yes. He absently wonders if one of his siblings from ages past helped build the place.

Sparkles had introduced him to the other “champions” once they were in the anteroom (and it had been amusing to see their faces when they discovered they had competition from a non-wizard) and then proceeded to waffle on about fame and glory and a lot of gold ‘galleons’. [Unless that is a wizarding term for Drachma, Luke isn’t really interested.]

Comb-over had been an arse and stiffly gone over the rules, before turning to him and very snidely commenting that if Luke chose to back out, he most likely would not be subject to the Wizarding penalty for breaking a magically binding contract, ie, forfeiting his non-existent magic - although it could take his life instead.

Luke had snorted at that. His life and non-existent magic? Not so much. But his honor and that of his Cabin? Like hell is he going to risk that.

He lopes up another set of stairs, ducking behind a set of armor just in time to avoid a set of students wearing badges with a capital P, and then scampers down a hallway. Luke starts tapping against the wall once he reaches a section of wooden paneling. Places like these always have hidden cubbies, and he’s loath to sleep anywhere Sparkles suggests without thoroughly checking it out first.

Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap ta-thunk.

_Aha._

He presses down gently on the panel and a whirring noise followed by an echo opens a hidden door which Luke gleefully leaps into. Or tries to. He runs smack into somebody and they go down in a tangle of limbs.

“Ouch.” Says a voice. “Gerroff me Fred,” says another.

A light flares in the darkness of the cubby and when his eyes adjust Luke can see a pair of red-haired twins who’s mischievous countenance remind him of his younger brothers Connor and Travis.

“Well now,” says the twin on the left, “What do we have here? Up to no good, are you?” Luke snorts.

“I’m a child of Hermes,” he counters, “we’re always causing trouble.”

“Is that so?” asks the twin on the right, “Well, _we_ are the chief mischief makers around here, and we don’t take too kindly to folk infringing on our territory, do we Gred?”

“No we don’t Forge.” His twin says, lifting his wand. Luke eyes it warily as the tip begins to glow pink. A burst of light streaks from it towards him, and Luke blinks, focusing hard on where he wants to go. 

By luck of the draw, one of the powers Luke inherited from his father was the ability to bend space – or in short, teleport. It tended to come in handy for fighting monsters, and he isn’t above using it for more mundane reasons. The jet of light connects with the wooden wall just as he reappears behind the red-haired devils and Luke snickers.

“You’ll have to be quicker than that to catch a demigod,” he tells them, “we’re born for battle. It’s quite literally hardwired into our DNA.”

The twins spin around to face him, a gleeful look on their faces as if he’s just passed a test, and Luke knows that if they’re anything like his kin – he has.

“I’m Fred,” says the twin previously identified as Forge-the-twin-on-the-right, “and this is George.”

“Luke,” he says, offering his hand, “Luke Castellan.”

“Alright then Luke Castellan,” George grins, “where are you bunking tonight?”

“Sparkles said something about a dorm room and something called a Hufflepuff. What the heck is a Hufflepuff?”

“Sparkles?” Fred repeats while George soundlessly mouths the strange word ‘Hufflepuff’ as though he can’t quite believe that Luke just said that.

“Yeah,” Luke says, “the old guy in the sparkly robe-dress. I didn’t stick around to ask his name.”

The twins begin to laugh, leaning on each other for support.

“Sparkles,” George agrees, wheezing a little. “You call Dumbledore ‘Sparkles’? That is never being forgotten.”

“Luke my friend, I do believe this is the beginning of a wonderful partnership.” Fred says, clapping him on the shoulder and Luke laughs.

“I aim to misbehave,” He tells them with a dangerous grin. The twins look at each other, and then back to him before laughing merrily.

“Come on then, you can bunk with us. We have a bed spare.” Fred asks, gesturing to the passageway and Luke winks. “After you.” A chill passes over the unsuspecting school body, asleep in their beds, as the unholy alliance is formed.

_“Seriously though, what is a Hufflepuff?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should not have watched the PJO movies. In my defense, I was left unsupervised. Hogwarts beware, the Twins and Luke have joined forces. (Yes, that was a Serenity quote in there.)
> 
> You have no idea how much it hurt me to quote AVPM – I'm a Hufflepuff through and through.
> 
> I head-canon that the Goblet of Fire was enchanted by Hecate and that the Tournament was for Demigods. Stupid Wizards couldn't figure out that was why they kept dying after they nicked it from the half-bloods. They think the Goblet belongs to them because they are Hecate's Blessed ones.
> 
> Luke is not impressed with the Wizards (except the Twins). Currently the mental theme's I have for him are "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" by Daft Punk and "Away from the Sun" by 3 Doors Down.


	3. It's the walk of shame...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something needs to be done about the see-squeak-scamper routine that the red-head has going on. Luke isn't sure that he can put up with it for a whole year.

_Don’t act like you haven’t been there, 7am with the bed hair._

* * *

All in all, Luke finds that he rather likes rooming with the Twins. Their friend Lee Jordan is just as much into causing chaos and participating in shenanigans, so that makes him alright in Luke’s book.

The first prank he pulls with his mischievous trio of roommates is pretty minor. They put salt on all the toothbrushes belonging to the Fourth year boys – it seems that Fred and George are planning a Joke Shop, something Luke fully approves of, and want to spend more time developing products (Luke volunteers his siblings for test subjects) this year.

A week passes in quiet succession, in which the only eventful thing that happens is Luke discovering the giant freaking dragons hidden in the forbidden forest – seriously, never tell a demigod something is forbidden, they’ll make a bee-line straight for it.

Other than that, Luke mostly spends his days exploring the grounds and castle of Hogwarts, checking out the secret passages that the twins tell him about and even discovering a few others that were hidden in plain sight. Panels and revolving bookcases man, it’s like an episode of Scooby-doo.

Sparkles (“My name is Professor Dumbledore my dear boy”) likes to stop him in the halls for quick chats, so Luke gets pretty good about teleporting out as soon as he hears the jingle of the little bells adorning the man’s hat coming his way.

In the evenings, he likes to flop upside down over a couch next to his new bunkmates while they do their homework. Quills and parchment are something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to – a little bit silly really.

“Who’s that?” Luke asks Fred, as he watches a girl with dark red hair and eyes like whiskey skid to a halt in the doorway, before pivoting and scampering off elsewhere.

“Hmm?” Fred hums looking up from a sketch of a cartoon lion chewing up a snake, something Luke tries not to take personally as he rather likes snakes. The hissy little things are always up for helping out a child of Hermes, and they tend to have a delightfully wicked sense of humor.

“The little red head who bolts whenever I’m in the room.” Luke says. “Who is she?” Fred tilts his head.

“Is she really skinny and covered in freckles? Or does she wear an alice band and tie her hair over her shoulder?” There’s really only two options: His fangirl of a baby sister, or the girl-who-lived-to-walk-on-eggshells.

“Ponytail,” Luke promptly answers and Fred cackles madly.

“Oh, that’s Hannah. She’s probably worried that you’ll be upset with her. She’s the one who put your paper in the cup.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think she thought it would work. She just said she was bored.”

“Well, she wound up saving me from being crispy-fried-dragon-kiblet.” Luke points out. George snickers.

“Hannah has a bit of a guilt complex.” He explains, “It doesn’t help that you my friend, are very pretty.”

“Why George,” Luke simpers, pressing a hand to his heart. “I never knew you felt that way.” Fred barks out laughter and shakes his head.

“Yeah Georgie, what will Alicia think?”

George throws a pillow at his twin, knocking him clean off the couch.

Luke frowns, and makes a mental not to track the girl down. He’s not sure he can tolerate a full year of see-squeak-scamper.

* * *

Hannah has never felt so pathetic, and that’s including the time she screamed over a mouse; which, in her defense, was fucking huge and she was only five. She seems to be doing a permanent walk of shame, but he’s not making it any easier for her.

Everywhere she goes, the handsome blonde is too: He’s balancing atop a bookcase in the library and sliding down the banister of the grand staircase. He’s free-climbing the astronomy tower, much to the admiration of all the sixth year Ravenclaws who had Herbology at the time. He even managed to wind up sitting atop one of the Quidditch Goalposts, something that should rationally be impossible.

She’s ready to scream and tear her hair out, because it’s her damn fault. She’s spent the past week being told everything there is to know about demigods by Ron and Hermione, now that the brunette has come around to researching them. Now she knows that the reason they never leave their super-secret-hideout is that they apparently secrete a hormone that attracts monsters to attack them.

In a single stupid moment of boredom, she’s yanked him from his home and bound him to a year-long competition outside the wards that would keep him safe. He’s in danger and it’s _all her fault._ Hannah wants to cry and scream and beg for forgiveness, but she doesn’t even know where to begin. What is she even supposed to say anyway? Walk up to him and say: ‘Hey, sorry I put your life in danger. Here: have a chocolate frog.’?

“Well, it would be a start.”

Startled by the sudden voice behind her, Hannah screams and falls off the small wall she’s perched on. The ground is not forgiving and she struggles upright, rubbing her bum where a bruise will no doubt form later on.

“I hear I have you to thank for saving me from being crispy-fried-dragon-kibble.” She looks up to see the blonde demigod standing there, bold as brass in his orange t-shirt and jeans with a wry smile on his face.

“What?” She manages to croak out.

“Fred tells me that you’re the one who entered me into the Tournament.” He says, “I was seconds away from being incinerated when the enchantment kicked in. So thanks.”

Hannah’s brain must have been damaged in the fall. Is he really thanking her for screwing up?

“Aaaa…”

“Are you going to sit there all day?” He asks her, tilting his head to the side and Hannah blushes.

* * *

The red-head is certainly amusing. Now that he’s up close, Luke can see her eyes are whiskey brown and she has the smallest smattering of freckles across her nose. Not a combination he’s seen before beyond the occasional camper from Cabin seven with rose-golden hair like the sunset, or tawny eyes from Cabin nine.

She’s small for her age, there is a lean look to her, as if she’s not always got access to enough food. It reminds him of himself at that age, back when he’d been with Thalia – they both used to go without at times in order to feed Annabeth seeing as she was so much younger than them.

For a split-second, he feels the bond of kinship that all demigods are inherently aware of, but it flickers and dies – Luke sighs, she’s not a half-blood then, just a witch with a kindred soul.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts after a moment of silence and he blinks.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you.” He says, eyeing the smaller girl warily.

"It's my fault." She insists. "You shouldn't have to participate in this stupid tournament."

Luke scowls and turns away for a moment muttering to himself. _Mea culpa_ , _mea maxima culpa._ It’s reminding him of Thalia all over again. Not of her, but of himself after she was lost. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration and closes his eyes, tilting his head back as he thinks it all over. Then:

“Well… do you have a chocolate frog?”

“Um… no.” She admits, looking sheepish. “Ron ate them all.”

Luke rubs at his chin thoughtfully. He really doesn’t want this to hang over them for the next few months, he has enough on his plate. But if she feels indebted to him, he should just pick something easy so it’s over and done with. His eyes wander over her slight form, before stopping on the black cloak she’s sitting on.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he offers, “I swear I’ll never hold this whole tournament-deal against you, if you lend me your cloak for the afternoon.”

“Okay.” She agrees, looking a little baffled and hands over the cloak which is far too short for him and barely brushes the back of his knees.

Luke smiles at her one last time, fully aware that he’s dazzling her and more than a little amused at the shade of pink she turns. Then he pivots on her heel and strolls off across the grounds humming Darth Vader’s march, his borrowed cloak streaming out behind him in an overly-dramatic fashion that imitates his uncle Apollo.

“What are you going to do with it?” She calls after him, and he laughs evilly.

“Pretend to be Batman!”

It’s a lie. He’s going to use it as a pillow while he plots how best to steal back Hecate’s cup.

But she doesn’t need to know that.

[He can always play Batman another day.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Megan Trainer blaring on my speakers. So sue me, that girl knows how to rock a beat. I woke up at 5:30 this morning (oh dear Apollo, WHY?) and so I had a little time to write before I had to scarper for work. It’s also my BFF’s birthday, so happy birthday darling! Have you really been in my life for almost a decade?
> 
> [It should be noted that while George eventually married Angelina, when they were teens Angelina dated Fred and George took Alicia to the Yule Ball.]
> 
> I’ve been asked if Hannah is a demigod too, and the answer is no, she’s just a witch who happens to be a distant legacy: ie, the Peverel’s (who she is descended from) were the children of Thanatos, and she’s got Black Blood in her – the Blacks were direct descendants of Hecate.
> 
> I headcanon that all children of Hermes can speak to snakes – I blame Martha and George. So Salazar Slytherin is one of Luke’s many, many siblings – albeit one blessed by Hecate in return for rescuing one of her children from being at the stake. See, I can come up with fun trivia!


	4. Silver-tongued devil with a heart of gold.

_If your lips are moving, then you’re lying…_

* * *

Luke is a liar.

It comes naturally to him, words slip from his mouth like honey. He learnt quickly as a child, learnt that just because he was a kid did not mean that the world would be kind to him.

It’s why he is so easily able to look innocent and surprised when he finds himself in a tent awaiting the first task. _“ _Courage in the face of the unknown__ ” is what he’s been told is the theme of this task, and well, he was born to be reckless and daring. It’s the mandate of all demigods the world over to go anywhere and challenge anyone provided they have the guts and skill to do so.

The overly-ridiculous proctor named Bagman bounces exuberantly into the tent, a purple velvet bag swinging violently in his hand. Luke leans backwards to avoid being smacked in the face and the bag instead slams into Krum’s shoulder. Bagman opens the pouch and offers it to the four champions in turn, explaining that the contents of the bag are what they will face – Luke scowls when he withdraws a vicious looking beast with the number three stung about its’ neck.

The miniature reptile glares up at him from poisonous green eyes, hissing threateningly, to which Luke responds with his own hissed promise of death. If the other champions hear the argument between statue and demigod, they don’t say anything – each of them too wrapped up in their own challenge to care. Luke knows damn well that every single one of them had forewarning, just as he did. They had help from their mentors, something he had refused.

[Traditionally, a demigod would have the aid and support of their siblings, would carry their parents’ sigil proudly as they completed each task. Here, in this world of magic and twisting staircases, Luke has no access to his kin, but the Weasley twins are more than ready to act as substitutes.

When he first saw the dragons spitting violent plumes of fire up into the night sky, Luke had panicked, wanting nothing more than to run like hell because suddenly all he can see is Ladon’s hissing heads, smell the tantalizing apples and feel the dangerous heat against his skin. The idea of facing another dragon so soon gives him nightmares that leave him tossing and turning until his sheets are soaked with sweat, and starting awake in the night with a scream trapped inside his throat.

In the end, it’s his pseudo-siblings who come up with the solution, suggesting a path that could not have been more obvious – although neither of them blame him for not seeing it. With a plan in place, the fear melts away from his heart and mind, leaving only a peaceful sense of self-assurance behind because he can do something that the overgrown salamander can’t.]

Luke steps out into the daylight, squinting against the glare for a moment while his eyes readjust. The roar of the crowd is deafening, and for a split-second he is home again, stood in the amphitheater with Cabin eleven cheering at the top of their lungs. Then he remembers where he is, knows that here his supporters wear red and gold, have their hearts on their sleeves as if daring anybody to try and break them.

He breathes in. He breathes out. And then he bursts into a flurry of movement.

Luke steps directly into view of the Peruvian Vipertooth, eyes up the copper and black beast and then very deliberately makes a play for its undivided attention.

“Hey!” He shouts, waving his arms. “Hey you! Come and get me, you ugly bitch.” He ignores the horrified gasps, the stern Scottish reprimand of _‘language!_ ’ and the shouts of ‘Is he _insane_?’ from the stands. Luke’s attention is firmly locked onto his serpentine opponent.

The vipertooth puffs up its chest and belches a dizzying amount of fire in Luke’s direction. The demigod somersaults out of the way and lets out a bark of laughter. “You missed!” He taunts the dragon, who tries again. Luke dodges, using a one-handed cartwheel to avoid the torrent of flame. “Missed again!”

He does this several times over, allowing the dragon to box him into a ‘kill zone’ and then waits for it to breathe fire once more. This time, he doesn’t dodge, instead he forces himself to remain stationary until just before the burning hot fire is inches away, closes his eyes, and focuses. In a split-second he disappears from the kill zone and reappears in the nest behind the satisfied she-dragon who thinks she's vaporized him, grabs the egg and teleports away to a crest of rock out of the reptile’s range. The crowd screams in horror, obviously thinking him to be ashes and smoke, but Luke is too dizzy with his victory to give a damn. He just kicked some serious dragon-tail.

“Suck on that, you overgrown lizard!” He shouts triumphantly, raising the egg over his head and grinning like a maniac. He wiggles in a happy dance as the dragon handlers move in to restrain the furious beast.

“Whoa!” He yelps as he slips off the rock and lands on his arse, earning a collective gasp of surprise from the stands. Luke shakes it off and leaps back to his feet.

“I’m okay!” He shouts to the amusement of his audience. Playing the joker is something he’s good at, and to be honest, it’s the first time in a long time he feels really, truly happy. Like nothing can bring him down.

* * *

Hannah wants to scream at the suicidal idiot in the arena. Taunting a dragon? Is he crazy? She covers her face, barely daring to peek between her fingers.

The Peruvian Vipertooth is a vicious type of dragon, small and compact; it only grows to five meters long and is known for being very good at hiding and very, very quick on its feet. The copper hide blends seamlessly into its native land, and the few poor muggles who come across it are quickly stuck down by its deadly venom as it seems to have a particular love of human flesh.

So it begs the question as to why the demigod is cheerfully baiting it. Hannah screams in horror as the dragon belches flame only for the blonde teen to dodge. He’s quick on his feet but that doesn’t ease the overbearing sense of guilt that has made a reappearance in the pit of her stomach. Oh god, he’s going to die and it’s her fault.

 _Don’t die_ , she prays. _Please don’t die._

Another burst of fire blasts through the air and Hannah squeaks as Hermione clutches tightly at her wrist. “Is he insane?” the brunette hisses at her and Hannah truly has no reply.

For a terrifying moment, Hannah thinks the dragon has flambéed him until a crow of victory echoes around the arena and everyone turns to see Luke standing tall on a ridge, golden prize in hand.

“Forget the dragon,” Hannah says, turning to Hermione who is sighing in relief, “ _I_ am going to kill him for that. What the hell was he thinking?”

“I thought it was inspired,” George quips, leaning forwards from the row behind the two fourth years.

“Yeah,” Fred agrees, “It took us ages to come up with that strategy.”

Hannah blinks. Then she frowns, and deliberately ignores Ron’s fawning over Krum who is the last competitor.  

“You mean to tell me that the suicide dance was your idea?” She hisses in a low tone. The twins beam proudly, are bold as brass. Hannah shares a look with Hermione and it seems that they are in agreement – the twins are in for a hell of a week once they are out of view of the teachers.

In the background, she can hear Bagman oohing and ahhing over Krum’s daring moves.

“Sure was,” The twins tell her happily, the crowd around them cheering for the Bulgarian as he finally snags the egg.

“What have I missed?” Hannah yelps as Luke suddenly appears in the empty seat next to the twins. George flashes her a cheeky grin.

“Nothing much,” He tells Luke, “Hannah here was just saying how impressed she was with your performance.” Hannah makes a strangled noise and resists the urge to choke him to death, reminds herself that she likes Mr and Mrs Weasley too much to murder one of their children (even if Ginny’s fangirl tendencies are _really_ annoying. Hannah is positive she once saw the younger redhead _sniffing_ one of her jumpers).

Luke flushes a little, but his grin turns up an extra notch.

“You were very brave,” Hermione offers, she still has her fingers digging into Hannah’s wrist.

“I was terrified,” The demigod admits, getting to his feet to follow the crowd out of the arena and back up to the school. “For a second there, it was like I was back in California.”

Hannah deliberately says nothing. He’s already made it clear than any attempts to apologize will result in a serious bout of childhood. “The Batman incident”, while highly amusing, lasted for hours and involved the older teen bursting in on random classrooms in order to ‘defeat the evil villain known as homework’.

[Professor’s Flitwick and Sprout had suffered him with terse smiles, while McGonagall had sent him away with a sharp word – Snape had outright tried to hex him, resulting in outright chaos as the teleporting wonder flickered around the classroom before setting off a dungbomb and disappearing off for a ‘well-earned’ nap. Professor Burbage had been the only teacher to be amused, and had wound up roping the blonde into helping her do a short segment on Muggle superheroes.]

She allows herself to be caught up in the crowd, separated from the others as they enter the castle, and then wanders off down a corridor and up a random set of stairs that changes destination half-way through. Eventually, she finds herself on an empty rooftop – one of many turrets on the west side, and settles down to watch the sun move across the sky and down below the horizon. The cool November wind whips around her, tossing her auburn locks around wildly like leaves dancing on the breeze.

Eventually she will have to return to Gryffindor tower.

But for now she can pretend she is free.

* * *

Collecting Bubotuber puss is the single most gross thing Hannah has ever had to do. And that includes cleaning out the shower trap every week, something that is twice as gross as normal because Hannah is pretty damn sure that Dudley pees in the shower. She wrinkles her nose at the disgusting smell as yet another pod bursts, sending thick goopy streams of gunk sliding down the inside of the glass vials.

She ignores Lavender and Parvarti when they suddenly squeal loudly because those two are almost always kicking up a fuss over something they consider un-ladylike.

“Snake!” Lavender squeaks out, and Hannah snorts. It’s probably just a garden snake.

* * *

He’s wandering around aimlessly when he notices a pair of girls inside one of the greenhouses jump up suddenly, and Luke can’t help but be curious. A second of concentration and he’s stood behind them, resting an arm on the indian girls’ shoulder.

“Whoa there,” he warns the girls, pushing their wands down. “It’s just an adder, she’s probably looking for somewhere warm to live.”

He bends his knees, crouching down and tentatively reaches out a hand.

 _“Cold, tired, sleeeeep_.” The little adder hisses blearily, and Luke’s heart goes out to her. “ _Sstupid humans waking me up, go away, go away.”_

“It’s alright,” he tells her, “I’ll keep you safe.”

 _“Warm?”_ The adder asks, _“Food?”_

“Yes,” He promises, waiting patiently for the little snake to trust him. Eventually she slithers over to him and allows him to run his hand down her distinctive zig-zag markings.

“Oh aren’t you beautiful,” he coos at the adder who happily bumps its head against his fingers and coils up around his wrist. Trowels clatter to the ground, and whispers begin to spread as more and more of the fourth years pay attention.

“What?” Luke asks, blinking innocently at the stunned group of Fourth years.

It’s not that he’s cooing over a snake that has their attention. It’s that when he opens his mouth, his words are not in English. The only person to not immediately whip around is Hannah who continues on with her task as if nothing important has happened.

“I’m sure she’s lovely Luke,” Hannah grumbles, “but she’s still venomous and she really can’t be in a working classroom. Go find her a new home.”

This time, it’s Luke’s turn to drop his jaw.

“Wait, you could understand me?” He says, eyes wide. Hannah looks up at him from her position on the floor.

“What?” she hisses carefully, raising an eyebrow. “Like it’s hard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a Guest review on FFN, there is no other actor for Luke than Jake Abel. I can’t help it, he’s hot. I mean, I literally re-watch the Lightning Thief to see him go “Whoa, that’s a sword. That’s a sword.” If you’re curious, I picture Hannah as a younger Karen Gillian.
> 
> In case anybody was wondering about Hannah - she’s lithe and 5’2 with freckles; she has wavy auburn hair that reaches the middle of her back and whiskey colored eyes. Her scar is lengthier than in canon and runs parallel to her hairline rather than in the middle of her forehead. 
> 
> Genetically speaking red hair means that your parents both carried the red hair gene, which can skip generations: ex. I have red hair, but the only relatives I know of with red hair are my half-brother and my mom’s maternal grandfather. As for her eyes, a couple like Lily and James who had green and brown eyes respectively have a 50% chance of producing a child with brown eyes, 37.5% of green eyes and a 12.5% of blue. So yes, her appearance is possible without godly influence. :3
> 
> Question – For those of you who watched Eurovision 2016, what the heck was the girl from Germany wearing? I loved the song, but I didn’t get the outfit. Also, Poland – what the hell? Australia was wicked though – that girl has a powerful set of pipes. Whoa Cyprus, you rocked! Serbia… holy hell, I was impressed.


	5. So far down, away from the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he looks at her, for a moment all Hannah can see is the echo of the boy. There is a coldness in him that threatens to burn the heart out of him. It’s beautiful and it's terrifying, but it will destroy him if he is not careful.

_I'm tired of living in the dark, can anyone see me down here?_

* * *

She can talk to snakes. Holy Zeus. Luke gapes like a gormless idiot because in that moment, he is one; _What the Hades?_ He’s never once met a _fídi icheío_ , a snake speaker, that isn’t a child of Hermes before; and she is no child of Hermes.

Caught up in staring at the stand-off between the two parselmouths, nobody notices the venomous tentacula sneaking a mischievous feeler towards them. Nobody notices it wrapping said tendril around Neville Longbottom’s left shoe and pulling hard. A single moment of distraction, and Hannah goes down with him in a twisted pile of limbs. The first thing she is aware of is the throbbing pain in her ankle.

“Sorry!” Neville yelps, trying to get off of her as quickly as he can, only to wind up putting more weight on her ankle. “Sorry!”

Luke steps forwards, gripping the fourth year under the arms and lifting him up off of the smaller girl. Neville sways for a second before he regains his balance, and then pats the older boy on the forearm.

“Thanks.” He says, sounding a little out of breath. Hannah pushes herself up into a sitting position, hissing as her ankle bumps against the packed dirt floor.

“No problem.” The blonde replies, crouching down to look at the redheads’ ankle.

“Looks like a bad sprain,” the demigod says, quickly assessing her. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen a thousand times after a rough spar. His cabin is notorious for getting into scrapes, and he’s usually the one who has to fix them up afterwards.

Luke redistributes his weight, ignores the bushy-haired girl’s muttered _‘Must be Tuesday.’_ and then scoops the smaller girl up into his arms, hefting her a little higher in order to make his grip a little more secure.

“Put me _down!”_ she yelps disgruntledly, pushing at his chest. Luke struggles not to drop the petite witch, but she isn’t making it easy for him.

“I don’t need your help.” She says angrily. “I don’t need _anybody_.”

It’s true, she’s never needed anybody before, learnt how to survive on her own – but in all honesty, she desperately wants people to care, but she doesn’t know how to trust them. Luke puts her down as if she’s just burnt him, and she staggers backward a few steps.

“You can barely walk.” He points out, eyeing her ankle. Hannah flushes with anger. _How dare he._

“I can take care of myself,” She says firmly, glaring at the older boy, even as she struggles to stand. There are tears welling up in Hermione’s eyes and even Ron looks hurt, but Hannah is too embarrassed to notice. Whatever warmth there was on Luke’s face, whatever kinship they could have had due to their shared talent evaporates to leave a frosty demeanor behind.

“Fine.” He says, and then he is gone, taking the little Adder with him.

Hannah shoulders her bag stubbornly, ignoring the fact that her classmates are all staring at her and begins the very long and painful trek to the hospital wing. It’s not like she hasn’t been in pain before.

* * *

Draco Malfoy has always gotten his way. For as long as he can remember his parents have promised him only the best – and that includes the decision regarding his future wife.

At the age of five, he declared that he would one day marry the girl-who-lived, and his father approved. At the age of eleven, he tried to offer her his hand and she publicly snubbed him in favor of a Weasley of all things. At fourteen, he still has his heart set stubbornly on the redhead.

She might be a little rough around the edges, but she still has the qualities he would want in a spouse. Loyal, caring, brave and honest. It doesn’t hurt that her name would open doors or that her family can trace its roots back to the Peverell’s who were children of Thanatos.

He’s been looking for cracks in the friendship of the golden trio for years, but it’s only now that he thinks it is beginning to fracture. When she proudly declares that she doesn’t need anybody, he sees the tears in the mudblood Granger’s eyes and hurt expression on Weasley’s face; it makes him wonder if a split is coming. Maybe, just maybe, he has a chance to get his foot in the door.

Maybe he can still win her over.

* * *

Hermione refuses to cry. Not in front of the Slytherins.

Hannah’s words slice open old wounds; the idea that her friend doesn’t want or need help – something she is so keen to give. The idea that Hannah doesn’t need anybody? Does that mean their friendship is just a lie? That the redhead has only been tolerating her all these years? Does she really mean so little to the redhead?

The thoughts swirl round and around the brunette teens’ head, blurring together into one depressive mantra. When class is over, she retreats to the common room and buries herself in one of the squishy chairs by the fireplace with a book. Ron sits next to her with a chess set and a strategy book, quietly prodding the pieces around the board with his wand. Hermione sniffles, and he looks up at her.

“She didn’t mean it Mione,” Ron says, “she was just upset. You know she doesn’t like strangers touching her.” Hermione sniffles, and slips off her chair in order to lean into the taller boys’ shoulder.

“I hope so.” She whispers, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace. “I really hope so.”

* * *

Luke enjoys high places. Perhaps it is in his blood, seeing as how Hermes runs on feet supported by winged shoes. Maybe it comes from Zeus, the king of the sky, being his grandfather. Or maybe it is just because he can see the world fall away, leaving only freedom in its wake.

His pride is stinging when he settles upon one of the parapets next to the astronomy tower, Hannah’s steadfast refusal to accept his help hurt more than he’d like to admit. Her pride and stubbornness brings to mind the memory of another girl who hated to be babied, and Luke ruthlessly crushes it down, pushes it to the back of his mind where it cannot hurt him anymore. Hannah is _not_ Thalia. The daughter of Zeus had been so much more.

Luke has heard the stories surrounding Hannah Potter, been inundated with a variety of opinions over the past few weeks. Is seems everybody has their version to tell so long as there is a willing audience – he’s been regaled with the tale of a girl who survived an impossible curse, a girl who soars through the air like she was born to it, a girl who dared to defy the headmaster and challenge a possessed thief. A girl who braved giant spiders, flew a car into a deadly tree and went up against a basilisk with only a sword for protection.

Everywhere he goes, people whisper about her, and while they tell stories of her bravery, there is arrogance mixed in – the impression of a snobbish girl too wrapped up in her own fame and glory to care about the others. Luke is conflicted. He hasn’t seen the arrogance before, only a quiet and meek – if moody and temperamental – girl; none of the arrogance that is she is claimed to have.

The door of the rooftop below creaks open and Luke’s eyes flutter open. A girl steps out onto the roof, and Luke recognizes her by her distinctive red curls. It seems the matron must have healed her ankle already.

“Can’t you leave me in peace for one night?” He groans, rubbing at his eyes, feeling a headache coming on just from her presence. She jumps, turning to look up at him.

“Oh,” Hannah grumbles, eyeing him balefully. “it’s you.”

“You’re being a brat.” He tells her, not in a mood to pull his punches. Hannah scowls at him.

“Where I come from,” He says, “It’s not polite to be rude to somebody trying to help you.”

“I didn’t ask you for your help.” She returns, glaring up at him. Luke slides down off the parapet, standing tall.

“Gee, I’m sorry.” He snarks. “Should I have bowed Princess? Am I not good enough for you?”

The redhead growls under her breath, but Luke doesn’t care.

“You know, for a while there, I thought maybe you weren’t so bad. But you run around acting all hard-done-by. I guess the rumors I heard were right, weren’t they.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She snaps angrily, eyes flashing.

“ _I_ don’t know what I’m talking about?” Luke repeats, his voice dangerously soft. Hannah looks up into a face twisted with cold rage. There is something simmering behind the older teens’ eyes and she realizes that just maybe, she’s gone too far.

“Everywhere I go, monsters follow me. I was nine when I ran away from home, from a mother whose mind was in pieces. Her eyes would start glowing green and she’d clutch at me frantically wailing about my fate, I used to lock myself in a closet to hide from her.” Luke tells her. “I lived on the streets and everybody I ever met thought I was a compulsive liar because they couldn’t see what I could.”

Hannah gulps and back away, regretting ever opening her mouth.

“When I finally found a family of my own, I wasn’t even able to keep them. Annabeth was _seven_ , we were just kids and Hades freaking unleashed half the monsters in Tartarus to chase us. My best friend _died_ to keep us safe. She’s a freaking tree now, and every time I see it I remember that she is dead because I wasn’t good enough.” His voice gets stronger, louder, with every addition.

“I wasn’t strong enough. I was the eldest, I should have been the one to stay behind, they were my responsibility, _it should have been me!_ ”

Luke is breathing hard and his eyes are a little wild. And then Hannah gets it. He’s not upset with her for summoning her into a death-trap because he thinks he deserves it.

He’s sitting there on the cold stone steps, shoulders slumped; Hannah’s never seen anybody look so defeated, so tired. He’s been putting up a front for a very long time - just like she has - smiling because it’s expected, not because he really feels happy. There’s pain and guilt and sorrow wound up into a tight ball in his chest where his heart should be.

Hannah teeters on the precipice, unsure of what to do. Luke’s eyes snap up to watch her warily as she takes a tentative step forward, and then another, sitting down next to him. They’re two lonely souls lost on the road that is life. They’re tired and more than a little bit broken when they should just be enjoying life, without a care in the world. The sad truth is that life doesn’t work that way and they are just two among thousands of teens who know pain before their time.

“What was she like?” Hannah asks after a long while. “Your friend. What was she like?”

Luke sighs heavily, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Thalia… Knowing Thalia was like finding lightning in a bottle; a once in a lifetime event. She was wild and brave, completely fearless and incredibly resourceful. She once killed a harpy using a broken segment of a picket fence. She was loyal too, she never once gave up on us or left us behind, and in the end that’s what killed her.”

“We were exhausted and desperate, right at the borders of camp. Annabeth couldn’t run any further and my ankle was broken. She told us to go, stood her ground when there was no hope just to buy us some more time.” Luke closes his eyes, a pained expression flashing over his face as he remembers the girl who was as fierce as a hurricane.

“She was my friend…” Luke’s shoulders begin to tremble as tears slip down his cheeks. “She was my friend and I couldn’t save her.”

“She loved you,” Hannah says, slipping her hand into his and squeezing gently. “She wanted you to be safe.”

“Wizards seem to have this really romanticized idea of what it means to be a demigod, but the truth is that from the moment we are born we are destined to die. The Gods say they care, but they sit on their thrones in Olympus watching us suffer.” He inhales sharply, tilting his head back to glare at the sky.

“His own daughter was dying, and Zeus stood by and let it happen. He could have done anything, could have called up a storm to blow the furies away, could have sent bolts of lightning to blast the hellhounds and all he did was turn her into a tree.”

When he looks at her, for a moment all Hannah can see is the echo of the boy. There is a coldness in him that threatens to burn the heart out of him. It’s beautiful and it’s terrifying, but it will destroy him if he is not careful.

“The truth is that the Gods don’t care about us.”

They sit in silence for a long while, and Hannah mulls over everything she knows about the boy next to her. He’s mischievous and cheeky, a joker and a trickster. He can handle himself in a fight, even when his opponent is a dragon and knows how to play a situation to his advantage. He’s also tired and lonely, lost and afraid. He needs somebody to lean on, and if she’s really truly honest with herself, so does she.

When they first met, he didn’t look at her twice. Didn’t fawn over her because she’s the girl-who-lived. She’s just another face in the crowd to him, and if he chooses to accept her tentative olive branch, it will be because of who she is, not what she is.

“I’m not a God,” She says, causing his head to snap around so he can face her. There is a puzzled look on his face that gives way to confusion and then… hope?

“Are you serious?” He asks her, his eyes are a kaleidoscope of emotion.

“Well, somebody has to keep you out of trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “A parapet originally meant a defensive mini-wall made of earth or stone that was built to protect soldiers on the roof of a fort or a castle”
> 
> Oh dear gods, they can never catch a break, can they? But really – tell me you didn’t think that just because he was at Hogwarts, Luke was going to get over his daddy issues. Or that Hannah was going to stand for being treated like glass. I know she’s shy, but that doesn’t mean jack. Snakes avoid folk, but if you poke one with a stick, it will bite you.
> 
> As for Draco, yeah, I went there. I wanted to give another point of view. No, he doesn’t have a chance in hell. He’d expect her to learn manners and wear high heels, to smile politely and adore him. Hannah will always prefer jeans over dresses and the wind in her hair to social soiree’s. 
> 
> Did anybody catch the Buffy reference in there?
> 
> For those of you who find Hannah boring, I beg you to bear with me. Have faith, I know what I’m doing… I think. She needs time to grow, right now she might seem useless now, but she’s just the bud of a flower that has yet to bloom. If you could see the girl I was at thirteen - and I was abused too, so I do understand her pain – you wouldn’t believe she could become the woman I am today. The sad truth is that yes, she shouldn’t be like this, but life is not kind or easy. Life is a battlefield – we must stand up and fight, or die on our knees


	6. a deep breath in the mirror

_Thinking all love ever does is break, and burn, and end…_

* * *

It isn’t easy. It isn’t perfect.

They don’t slip into sync as if they’ve suddenly found the other part of their souls. Building a friendship between two closely guarded people is hard, takes time and patience and faith. Something that both Hannah and Luke seems to have very little of.

It starts with Hannah being sat in the sixth year boys’ dorm, covering her ears as the blasted golden egg wails loudly. Fred and George are bouncing on their beds, slinging hexes and jinxes at the shiny prize while Luke has his sword out and it attempting to skewer it in between jets of light. Ridiculous to be sure, but teenage boys will be boys – be they muggle, wizard or demigod.

Finally, Hannah has enough and throws the nearest book at George, clocking him in the ribs and sending him sprawling back onto his quilt with a muffled oomph.

“Oh just shut it up already,” She howls angrily. It’s only the look on her face – a glare that could challenge any basilisk for the title – that gets them to comply. Once the egg is shut, Hannah levels them a very unimpressed look.

“Has it occurred to you,” she asks, “that the tasks are based on the elements. The first task was Fire, which leaves Air, Earth and Water.”

“So…?” Fred says, looking rather puzzled.

“Opening it in the air isn’t working,” Hannah says as if she’s talking to some very small children. “Why don’t we try sticking it under water.” A wave of comprehension dawns on the faces of the unholy trio.

“Why not bury it?” Luke asks, and Hannah laughs. It isn’t a nice laugh, not really.

“Sprout would murder us if we upset her precious plants. Well, that and the egg has a globe full of bubbling water. Let’s call the dung heap Plan B.”

Hannah scoops up the heavy golden egg and the four of them make for the bathroom, shedding their shoes and outer robes (or in Luke’s case, the hoodie Lee had leant him) on the way. Fred conjures a large tub of water, big enough for all four of them to sit in if they’d wanted to. George fills it with a muttered “Aguamenti.” Hannah passes Luke the egg, and the demigod opens it, quickly dropping it into the water. Instead of the same screams from before, now they can hear a garbled voice issuing from the glowing interior.

“After you,” Fred says, gesturing to the tub.

“Oh I know you aren’t asking me to get my hair wet,” Hannah says, glowering at the twins. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to dry?”

George rolls his eyes, grumbling that _she’s a witch for Merlin’s sake_ , before muttering an incantation that Hannah can’t hear. She blinks as her vision suddenly warps a little, as if she’s got her head trapped in a giant bubble.

“What the?” She yelps and Fred snickers.

“Bubble head charm,” He says. “Fifth year classes. But now you won’t get your hair wet.” He’s annoyingly chipper, and Hannah glowers at him for it. Next to her, Luke rolls his eyes.

“Can we just get on with this,” He says. “I’d rather not sit around waiting when the walls have ears.”

One by one, they plunge their bubble-protected heads under the water to listen. The voice coming from the egg is spooky and sends shivers running down Hanna’s spine. It reminds her of hearing the basilisk in the walls. They song finishes on a creepy note, and then begins again. They listen to it three times in a row before pulling out.

“Well, that was cheerful,” Luke quips once they’ve shut the egg and vanished the tub.

“We cannot sing above the ground,” Hannah frowns, following the boys back into the dorm. “You’re looking at an underwater creature.”

“An hour long you'll have to look,” George murmurs, flopping onto his bed.

“Well, there’s your time limit.” Fred chimes in, looking at Luke.

“We've taken what you'll sorely miss,” Luke repeats in a horrified tone, and then clutches his sword close. The quartet look at each other, still mulling over the egg’s song.

“If they try to put my sword at the bottom of the lake,” He says seriously, “I _will_ run them through with it.”

“Duly noted,” Hannah agrees dryly, watching the demigod hug his precious blade close. It might have been a little weird, if not for the fact that all demigods treasured their weapons as an extension of themselves.

“So…” Fred says after a while. “Can you swim?”

Luke throws a pillow at him.

“Is that a ‘no’?” Fred mumbles around a face full of pillow.

* * *

Surprisingly, the Second Task is not the scariest thing Luke has to deal with as November flows into December. One cold morning, when Luke is huddled at the breakfast table in yet another of Lee’s muggle hoodies that has been spelled with a warming charm, hands wrapped tightly around a steaming mug of coffee – something that a demigod really shouldn’t be combining with inborn ADHD; he is ambushed by McGonagall.

“What do you mean ‘Do I know how to dance’?” Luke yelps loudly, gaining the attention of the entire hall.

“As a champion you and your partner are expected to open the Yule Ball,” McGonagall informs him sternly. “You _do_ have a partner, don’t you?” She eyes him carefully.

Luke gulps, fidgeting nervously as the eye of every single unattached – and some attached – girls turn on him. Then, an idea pings in his brain, and he swivels to face Hannah, who is happily feeding bacon fat to her snowy owl.

“Nu-uh,” She says, looking up and cutting him off cold. “I don’t dance.”

“Well,” McGonagall says impatiently, “I do not have all day.” Luke twitches nervously, searching for a way out of this. Then an even better idea forms in his brain and Luke all but tackles the twins.

“George!” He exclaims, “I need you to do that water spell thing again!”

The twins eye him warily.

“Why…?”

“Just do it. I need mist!” Fred raises his wand, and a fine spray of water begins to spout from the slim shaft of wood. Luke pulls his last drachma out of his pocket, rubs it carefully and prays to Iris.

“Silena Beauregard,” He says, tossing the coin into the mist – and thoroughly confusing the every-living heck out of the wizards around him. “Camp Half Blood.” The golden coin disappears and the mist ripples, clearing to show the face of a very pretty girl with long dark hair and bright eyes. She looks up from the sketch-pad she had been working on and at Luke.

“I’m busy,” she snaps, returning her attention to her work. Then she freezes and looks up once again. The pad clatters to the floor as she springs up.

“Oh my gods, Luke!” She cries, and in the background Luke can hear Cabin ten dissolve into chaos.

“Hi Silena,” He says cheerily.

“We thought you were dead, you complete and utter ass!” She scolds, a furious expression on her face and Luke pales. Oh crap. He’d forgotten to talk to Chiron.

“Uh…”

“That’s all you have to say?” She demands, “Do you have _any_ idea of how much pain you caused Annabeth. She’s barely slept in _weeks._ ” Luke fidgets, not wanting to anger her any further. The children of Aphrodite are usually very peaceful, but when angered they rival Ares in their grudge-holding.

“You forgot to phone home,” Hannah says smugly from his elbow, “didn’t you.”

“Shut up,” He mutters, jabbing her in the ribs. By now Silena is ranting full-throttle, and Luke knows he needs to cut her off now.

“Silena,” he tries, but the dark-haired girl ignores him.

“– of all the selfish, irresponsible –”

“Silena.” He tries again.

“– I’d have expected something like this from your brothers, but really –”

“Silena!” Luke shouts.

_“What?”_ She turns to rage at him. Behind him, the twins snicker.

“I need your help.” He admits. She eyes him cautiously. When a child of Hermes asks for help, things will either go spectacularly well, or down in flames.

“I’m listening,” Silena says grudgingly.

Luke explains as best he can, words tumbling from his mouth like rain after cloudburst – fast and hard, rushing forwards with no restraint. Silena does her best to understand. She hums and nods:

“Okay then.” She says, tilting her head to the side. “I’ll speak to Chiron and call you back later.”

Then the mist is gone as the conversation disconnects, and Luke breathes a sigh of relief. He is safe from the harpies – er, young witches who have been eyeing him up since his triumph over the vipertooth. He turns back to the stern witch and smiles charmingly.

“I’d say I have a date,” he tells her, ignoring the shocked stares from all around, and then swipes the last piece of toast from Hannah’s plate (“Hey!”) sauntering off out into the entrance hall with a goofy grin on his face.

Once he’s out of sight, the grin slides off of his face like ice cream off a cone. _Annabeth._ Gods above, he had completely forgotten to check in with her. It’s like he’s broken his promise to Thalia all over again – didn’t he swear that he’d always be there for the blonde, that he’d keep her safe?

Didn’t he angrily disagree with that impertinent huntress Zoe Nightshade when she claimed he would let the girls down? But in the end, the immortal teen was right. He’s failed.

He failed them. He broke his promise.

Luke is sinking into his grief again, slipping down the icy slope towards hell. He doesn’t feel or notice the cold and cruel presence hooking its’ claws into his soul; doesn’t know that his dreams will start to be monitored closely by a creature older than Olympus itself.

_‘I’m so sorry Anna.’_

* * *

Draco has been patient, really, he has.

In the week since the fallout, he’s held his tongue and watched as the golden trio has only managed to split even further apart. Hannah has completely branched off to hang out with the Weasel Twins and that Demigod. Weasel-bee and Granger have barely said two words to her, but she doesn’t even seem to notice.

When Hannah gets up from the Gryffindork’s table, he hurries to his feet, makes his excuses (ie, shakes Pansy off of his arm) and casually makes his own way out of the hall, careful to not be too obvious in the fact that he’s following her. He keeps his steps measured evenly and leisurely as he follows the petite redhead up the grand staircase to the third floor. When he’s sure that nobody else is around, he quickens his steps.

“Potter,” he calls, readying himself to duck if she reacts badly. Hannah stops in her tracks, turning to look at him, a wary expression on her face.

“Malfoy.” She replies evenly, her form tensing up.

“Hi,” He says, not really sure where to begin. She stares at him unblinkingly, which makes him fidget nervously.

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Have you looked outside lately?” She asks, gesturing to the window next to them – and true enough, it’s bucketing it down outside. British weather for you, when it decides to rain suddenly, it pours. Draco shifts his weight and tries not to wince. _Oops._

“Have you done the homework for Potions?” He tries again.

“Almost,” Hannah admits, a little baffled. “I’ve only been able to find five uses for crushed beetles so far.”

“Would you like some help?” Draco offers, “I finished mine last week.”

“That’s okay,” She says, taking a tiny step backwards. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Oh,” He replies, looking a little crestfallen. It’s seriously wigging Hannah out.

“Why are you being so nice?” Hannah asks cautiously, looking about as if she thinks his friends are about to leap out and hex her. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Draco protests, raising his hands defensivly. “I’ve never hated you.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Hannah mutters underneath her breath. Draco winces, then he bottles up his courage, smiles a little sheepishly and then lets his words out all in one big rush:

“I was kind of hoping you’d go to the Ball with me.”

* * *

Hannah wants to run. Or disappear. Or something.

What the hell? Malfoy is being _nice?_ Who turned the world on its axis and made it opposite day?

“Well?” Malfoy asks, shuffling his feet and looking the perfect image of a nervous-boy-with-his-first-crush. Hannah blinks, feeling shock seep into her bones. She opens her mouth, intending to spit poison like always, because who the hell does he think he is? Asking her to the ball after everything he’s done, everything they’ve both done in the past three years? Acting like she never spurned him on their first train ride, like he never hurled a serpent at her on a dueling platform.

But what comes out of her mouth is not what she had intended.

“Okay,” she says in a quiet tone, too shocked at herself to take it back right away. Malfoy’s eyes light up – and they’re a little bit pretty when he smiles, like quicksilver. He bounces on his toes a little, something she can only see because his robes swish ever-so-slightly.

“I’ll meet you in the entrance hall before the ball then?” He asks eagerly, and Hannah doesn’t have it in her to crush him now, not when he looks genuinely happy that she’s agreed.

“Okay,” She repeats, feeling a little dazed. Then he’s gone in an excited flurry of robes, and she’s left standing in an empty corridor trying to figure out what the hell just happened, wondering if maybe she’s eaten cheese before bed again and this is just a really strange dream.

Hannah pinches herself.

Ow. Not a dream.

She wanders off up to the Gryffindor tower on autopilot, not really registering the presence of other people around her, not responding when they say hello.

She’s hyperventilating when the Twins find her, curled up on a chair in their dorm-room.

“Hey firecracker,” One of the twins says, Hannah doesn’t look up to see which. “Is everything okay?”

Hannah shakes her head slowly, it’s like walking through treacle, everything is so slow and out of time.

“Something is really, really wrong.” She admits.

“What? Did somebody ask you to the ball?” Fred jokes, and Hannah nods.

“It can’t be that bad,” George says, “if you don’t want to go, we can always prank him for you.”

“Malfoy.” She tells them, still more than a little bit shocked, and oh-my-gods-why-did-she-agree?

“Did he threaten you?” Fred immediately jumps to a conclusion – granted, not an unlikely possibility. Hannah shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “He was… nice.”

George shudders. Then he checks to make sure the sky isn’t falling.

“But you said no, right?” He asks, fixing the curtain after his previous rough treatment. Hannah shakes her head.

“I… I said yes.” She whispers, it still hasn’t sunk in yet.

The twins share a look, and Hannah knows that this won’t end well.

* * *

Ron feels lost.

He’s trying to be patient, but he can see Hermione sinking into a depression, and Hannah hasn’t spoken to them in days. She’s been too busy hanging out with the Twins and Castellan. Ron tamps down on the jealous thought that he’s been overlooked in favor of his brothers yet again because as much as it stings, he needs to be better than that, needs to be the bigger person. He can’t let himself become the jealous eleven-year-old whose cruel words sent a girl crying to a bathroom -and inadvertently risking her life - again. He’s not jealous, he’s worried.

Because Hannah and Hermione are his best friends.

But Hermione is falling into a mental dark place, regressing back into the muggle girl who had no friends and lived for her books while Hannah is having mood swings and somehow going to a ball with their worst enemy.

Ron tries not to be mean. He realizes he isn’t jealous – why would he be jealous of the obvious crazy which is afflicting his girls? He’s worried, but it’s more than that.

Ron feels lost.

And he doesn’t know how to fix this.

* * *

In a house on a hill, many miles south of Scotland, a spirit embodied by a homunculus plots its revenge aloud while a short and stunted man tries to milk a particularly vicious snake.

In a locked office at Hogwarts, a devoted follower consults yet another book trying to figure out where exactly the plan went wrong, where he failed his master.

In Tartarus, an immortal being stirs, stretching its presence out, reaching for the souls of the weary, the lost; the hopeless and downtrodden.

In a Grecian cabin, a little girl with blonde hair and stormy eyes curls up on her bed with eyes full of tears, this time tears of joy.

On Olympus, a father looks down upon his son and prays for his safety.

The fate of the world somehow rests on a lonely boy and his choices.

And yet, also on the shoulders of an ordinary girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Hannah. What was she thinking? Oh right, she wasn’t. Oh well, your teenage years are for the stupid mistakes – god knows, mine certainly were.
> 
> Before anybody asks, the lyrics and title for this chapter, while being from a love song, are about having faith to make a new start and trust again. Not Luke and Hannah getting together. Luke turning to ask Hannah to the ball isn’t because he has a thing for her, but because she’s the only girl there that he trusts to not try to maul him on the dance-floor. Silena is around five years younger than Luke in canon if my math is right, seeing as she was 18 when she died, so I’m adding a bit to her age and making her almost 16. 
> 
> Yet another headcanon of mine is that the Apollo cabin like to sing hits from musicals. Like, if they’re cleaning, they love to sing “It’s a Hard Knock Life” from Annie. This leads to a lot of annoyed demigods in the other cabins and the phrase “Shut the hell up” is pretty common on inspection day.


End file.
